


not so contrary

by gudetama (elementary)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Newt Scamander, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: Despite his philosophy, Newt can't help but overthink





	not so contrary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntiGravitas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiGravitas/gifts).



> for the lovely AG, who wanted slice-of-life and domesticity

It’s like this.

People tell Newt that with his tendency to travel and explore, he must be great at adapting to anything but that really depends on what he is adapting to. For example, he opens his eyes in the morning and freezes up at finding a face right next to his. It’s a handsome face, certainly, rugged with facial growth and strong features but relaxed in sleep. Quiet snores fill Newt’s ears and the morning breath of the other tickles his chin.

This is what he has been waking to for the past few weeks yet it still catches him off guard.

Solitude has been Newt's easy state of being for most his adult life until now, the consequences of being 'unlike other people'. And Newt has been fine with that, considering himself neither fortunate nor unfortunate. Things simply happened to be—the past hurts, his interests, the occasional person who sticks around regardless—and if anything, it’s convenient.

That solitude has broken recently to accommodate the steady presence of another invading his space.

“Good morning.”

Newt blinks, and warm brown eyes blink slow in response. He watches a small smile stretch across Percival’s lips.

“Ah,” Newt utters intelligently, feels himself flush a little. “Morning.”

“You’re usually up by now,” Percival continues in that same husky tone, eyes questioning.

That gives Newt pause. True, he always pulls himself out of bed before his lover wakes; not to avoid him, really, just that he has a routine and there’s no point in waiting for Percival since he follows a different one. It’s hard to say why Newt lingered this particular morning, staying close to the man lying next to him. Natural warmth radiates off him and Newt's hand twitches, starts to slide over—

—and retreats when Percival turns over onto his back to stretch languidly.

“I suppose you feel like a lie-in every once in a while, too,” the man groans more than says.

Newt has no answer and Percival doesn't wait for one. He gets up and summons his robe, shrugs into it as gracefully as one possibly can, then makes his way to the joint bathroom. After the door closes, Newt reaches across again to the vacated space and touches rapidly-cooling sheets.

Is this what Percival wakes to every morning? The area where Newt lies must have been colder than this. At the thought, there's an unfamiliar kind of hollowness in his chest.

Newt gets up just as Percival finishes.

“I'll get breakfast ready,” Percival says. “See you in an hour,” and with that he's gone from the room.

An hour. Plenty of time for Newt to go about his morning rounds.

The suitcase and the creatures within are still very much Newt's territory; he has yet to extend a formal invitation and Percival hasn’t asked. Whether he should offer or not is one of the few questions he can’t find an exact answer to and isn’t sure if asking anyone will help. One thing for certain is that more and more he finds himself imagining what kind of face Percival will make if he were to be shown this herd of large-eyed mooncalves or tickled by the graphorn’s mouth; finds himself wondering if the man will look upon his life’s work and appreciate it or shake his head like some others.

And there’s another question: why does that matter?

As if sensing his disquiet, Pickett pulls on his ear and Newt puts on a reassuring smile. He leans down and pets the recently-hatched occamies he just fed. In another couple weeks or so, they’ll be ready to go back into the wild and Newt will be away for some days to resituate them.

Percival’s face appears in his mind.

While not the first time Newt has left the country on such trips, the circumstances have changed relationship-wise since the last time he did so. The (new) question is, whether that makes a difference.

“Worrying means you suffer twice,” Newt mutters absently, but it does little to stave his growing frustration.

(So, no, Newt is not adapting well in this case.)

He arrives in the kitchen a bit past an hour and sees Percival already seated at the table, sipping coffee from a mug while reading the papers. The very picture of a sophisticated man, he is, and Newt’s just glad he remembered to _scourgify_  himself clean after the rounds.

“The water is boiled,” Percival informs him, and Newt says his thanks.

Tea is made just the way he likes it (because Percival has everything necessary and lets him) then he’s sitting across from the man, picking up his fork and scooping eggs into his mouth. It’s perfectly hot and tastes good, and it’s then that Newt realizes he was hungry. The breakfast pastry next to it is crisp on the outside and soft and chewy within, the warm smell of butter enhancing its flavour.

“Did you make this?” Newt asks and takes another eager bite.

Percival snorts inelegantly, and the sound is unusually delightful to Newt. “I don’t possess baking skills, no. They’re from the bakery down the street.” Though the tone is dry, Percival’s smile is one of amusement. “I could learn, if you like a man who bakes.”

All coherent thoughts escape Newt at the response and he feels his face heat. He doesn’t know where to look all of a sudden. That was unexpectedly straightforward, a blatant expression of consideration for him unlike any he has experienced before. And Newt is hopelessly weak to it.

With his heart pounding against his chest, he declines as politely as he can.

“Alright, then,” he hears Percival sigh.

When he glances up, the smile has slipped into something that makes Newt wonder what he did to deserve it and peculiarly, it settles some of the doubts and questions. They aren’t completely gone, no; there are far too many of them and more constantly being added as he navigates this strange, new thing.

Quite contrary to his own personal philosophy.

They clean up the dishes—hand-washing, to Newt’s surprise—one washing and the other drying.

“It was for two—hardly messy enough to be using magical energy,” is Percival’s reasoning.

“Yes, but physical movement is also energy exertion,” Newt points out.

Percival hands over the last cup and shuts off the faucet, then turns to Newt. “Indeed,” he says, expression something pointed and sly.

There’s a certain implication in his tone and well, that shifted quite suddenly. Newt must look caught, wide-eyed, mouth ajar, and the back of his neck burning. Putting down the cup first lest he break it, his eyes slowly go to Percival’s lips and then after a second of hesitation, Newt’s lips are there, too. He feels Percival huff a laugh against his mouth but then a hand is on Newt’s neck pulling him closer, soft lips sealing firmly over his.

It’s warm and wet, light licks and appreciative noises. Newt doesn’t recall sharing kisses with someone in their kitchen after breakfast just because he can. A simple action of affection and desire he's allowed as this man's lover but, but—

—there is no ‘but’. Just him and Percival together, enjoying one another in this moment.

 _Maybe it doesn’t always have to be contrary,_  he thinks, and smiles into the next kiss.


End file.
